


i cry just a little when i think of letting go

by phae



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2018-01-09 06:27:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1142595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phae/pseuds/phae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Clint Barton strikes me as a cries-after-he-cums sort of guy. A crymax-er. Enjoy that one, Tumblr! You’re welcome!” — Matt Fraction (Sex Criminals #4)</p>
            </blockquote>





	i cry just a little when i think of letting go

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Flo Rida's _I Cry_.
> 
> Alternatively titled _Crymaxer_ , for obvious reasons.

Clint’s muscles are tensing in a way that means he's got a delicious orgasm in his forseeable future. But as good as this is—Phil kneeling between his splayed legs and sucking him off with the kind of creativity and concentration he’s only ever seen his handler afford dicey ops—Clint can’t allow himself to relax into it and just let go, not yet.

'Cause he doesn’t want to come inside Phil’s mouth, he wants—“Wanna come with you inside me, babe.” Sliding his hand down from where it’s anchored to the back of Phil’s head, Clint grips his shoulder tightly and nudges him away. “Need you t’fuck me, come on, fuck me _now_ ,” Clint begs.

Phil pulls away slowly, his lips sealed around Clint’s cock still, leaving Clint's skin chilled and spit-slick as his warm mouth draws away with a filthy _pop._ Clint’s pretty sure that he's the one making that whining noise, but he’s too close to the edge to care. As Phil sits back on his calves, raising an expectant eyebrow at Clint, Clint shifts his weight on the bed and makes to roll over onto his hands and knees. But then Phil stops him with a callused hand at Clint’s hip, his grip firm enough to bruise.

"No," Phil says, his voice sex-wrecked in all the best ways. "I want you like this, want to watch you when you come apart for me."

An easy grin takes up shop on Clint’s face even as he cringes internally at the very idea of getting off face-to-face with Phil. That’s not part of Clint’s sexual MO unless they’re drenched in pitch-black or, you know, his partner's blind. So yeah, not happening here. “But if I roll over,” Clint wheedles, looking up through his lashes just so. “You can pound my ass good and deep. Bet I could come just from your cock that way.”

Phil, because he is much too observant for Clint’s own good, recognizes Clint’s hesitation and his more than decent attempt at distraction. “You always want to have your back to me,” he muses clinically, and that detached tone means Phil’s reviewing every sexual encounter they’ve shared over the past four months and connecting all the dots of every hint Clint’s dropped without ever meaning to.

Clint reaches up to wrap his arms around Phil’s shoulders and pull him down on top of Clint--Phil's a sucker for a good-long makeout session--but Phil shrugs out of his hold and scoots away. Clint’s chest clenches up in the painful way that usually means he's been underwater for too long. “Phil—”

"Ah." Phil’s intent gaze skitters away from Clint to focus on the nightstand where Clint stashes all his favorite things, from sex toys to extra ammo. "It seems I misread the situation. I thought we’d been building toward something serious." Phil stands from the bed then and starts pulling his clothes from the piles they’d left on the floor.

There’s nothing extraneous about his movements as he methodically redresses, donning his Prada armor, wrinkled as it’s become. Clint can only lay there gaping while his body tries to decide if it’s running too hot or cold. "I apologize for the misunderstanding," Phil goes on, his face covered with a mask of indifference. "And especially if I’ve done anything to make you feel uncomfortable. While I’ve more than enjoyed our time together, I’m afraid I won’t be able to continue things in a casual manner. I hope that this won’t become an issue in our working relationship."

Phil knots his tie with practiced ease, his eyes trained decidedly _not_ on Clint, and turns to leave the room. Clint shoots up from the bed and darts across the room without a conscious thought then. He forcefully turns Phil back around and slots his naked body up along Phil’s, all the places where they inexplicably fit together aligning. “No! Baby, we are!” Clint hastens to explain as his hands grip the sides of Phil’s face and he struggles to make Phil’s eyes meet his own. “This is—you’re it for me, Phil!”

Phil’s forehead crinkles in a mark of confusion. “Then why, Clint? You never want to get more intimate than the act itself. You won’t even turn your head so that I can kiss you while we’re having sex.”

Clint drops his head to rest on Phil’s shoulder as he groans in frustration. “It’s not that I don’t _want to_ , it’s just _embarrassing_.”

"How is kissing while we’re fucking _embarrassing_? What, is that too close to _making love_ for you?”

"No, it’s—" Clint cuts himself off and drops his hands to Phil’s chest, bunching up the expensive fabric of his suit jacket in his sweaty fists. "I cry, okay!"

"What?"

Clint pulls his arms in as he steps back, crossing them over his chest defensively. “I cry,” he admits, looking down. He should really be wearing pants in this kind of situation. The only thing that'll make a guy feel more vulnerable than confessing his dirty little secrets is confessing them while he's standing around butt-naked. “When I…come. I cry.”

Phil crowds up against him, already shrugging out of his jacket again. With a hand at the center of Clint’s chest, he shoves Clint back lightly so that he bounces onto the bed. “You’re going to cry for me?”

Clint lifts his eyes hesitantly and licks his dry lips at the look of awestruck _need_ that’s overtaken Phil’s features. While Coulson is all bland politeness wrapped up in a bitching suit, Phil is usually expressive in a subtle, wholesome kind of way. But this Phil standing over Clint isn’t bothering to hold anything back. It’s all there in his eyes, how much he wants Clint—to touch him, to claim him, to love him. Clint’s letting out a throaty moan before he can even think to swallow it down.

Phil cups a hand under Clint’s jaw and drags his thumb over Clint’s bottom lip. He shakes his head and huffs out a breathy laugh. “You are so damn gorgeous," he whispers. And then he's falling forward, pressing Clint down into the mattress, and doing his utmost to bring tears to Clint's eyes in the most earth-shatteringly way possible.


End file.
